


Creature Comforts

by 888mph



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/888mph/pseuds/888mph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles fucks Derek with a dildo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creature Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> My first Teen Wolf fic!
> 
> I asked people on tumblr to leave me prompts, hoping I'd get my writing juices flowing and this one did the trick! I'm just not sure how all that plot managed to creep in, though...
> 
> Beta-ed by Prussie.

**From: Derek**  
 _I'm coming in._

Stiles puts down his cell once he finishes reading Derek's text. After almost scaring Stiles half to death a few times (“Who do you think it was?” “I didn't think anything, geez! Just suddenly there was someone that wasn't there before!”), which had resulted in a lot of flailing limbs and one memorable occasion when Stiles almost got a concussion by falling of his chair, Derek had accepted that he needed to warn Stiles before jumping through his window.

Stiles still isn't sure how everything happened. 

~~~~~~~~

They were making one last desperate plan against the Alpha's pack. It involved him and Lydia breaking into their lair to leave them a few wolfsbane bombs she had invented, while Derek and the others kept them occupied.

Stiles hadn't said anything, but he was positive not everyone would come out of the plan unscathed. That's why he'd found himself lingering behind the others while Derek locked the door to his apartment and with softened features he'd told Stiles to be careful. Stiles surprised them both when he pounced him and kissed him closed mouth and squarely on the lips.

It turns out Stiles was right. Someone had ended up hurt during the endeavor, but not nearly as dramatic as he had feared. As they were leaving the Alphas' lair, an abandoned warehouse in the skeeviest part of town of course, Lydia missed a step and landed on her right ankle with a sickening crunch and a scream.

It had taken them forever to arrive to Stiles' jeep that was parked two blocks down the road. Stiles was carrying most of her weight, while she managed to blame him for almost everything.

When the pack arrived at the hospital disheveled, but unharmed, Lydia had already been wheeled inside for X-rays. Before Jackson had the time to jump on Stiles, because apparently it was also his fault that Lydia's idea of sensible shoes were meant for the runway and not for breaking out of abandoned buildings, Derek had barged in. He grabbed Stiles' head with both hands and with a muttered “Oh, thank god” kissed him.

It wasn't a kiss like the one that Stiles had given him, quick and chaste. This was demanding and tinged with desperation, taking advantage of Stiles' mouth slack in surprise to slip his tongue inside.

When Derek finally let go and Stiles opened his eyes, everyone was staring at them, including Mrs McCall. Stiles had wanted nothing more than to have the ground swallow him whole.

Which meant that after that he was too mortified to been seen near Derek, if anyone could walk in.

However, that bitch called fate wasn't on his side. Two days later, Stiles was waiting for Lydia in the parking lot of the mall. Apparently Jackson, who had a Porsche, was too busy. So, until Lydia got out of the cast Stiles was slated to drive her around. He was pretty sure he hadn't agreed to any of it. Derek appeared and leant with his back against the jeep next to Stiles.

He had his patented scowl plastered on, but Stiles was positive that the longer he waited, more did the corner of Derek's mouth twitched with mirth.

Stiles shoulder-bumped him, giving him a soft “hey”. Derek shoulder-bumped him back, but with werewolf strength, which sent Stiles tumbling to the pavement with a undignified shriek.

He blinked up from his place on the ground and saw Derek still leaning back against the jeep, still looking ahead like nothing had happened; his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Stiles scrambled back to his feet and stepped in front of Derek, who looked at him, his lips finally curling up in a familiar smirk, acknowledging him for the first time.

Stiles smiled and hooked a finger in one of Derek's belt loops, feeling embolden by the air of levity hanging on between them, and tugged lightly. With a growl Derek grabbed him by the shoulders turning them around so he was pressing Stiles against the jeep and smashed their lips together.

It was filthy and heady, nothing like their first two kisses, mouths opened and slotted together. They were both breathing harshly through their noses, their hips rutting minutely against each other of their own accord. 

There was something to be said about making out in a public parking lot and a voice in the back of his head was wondering if anyone was watching. Stiles found out he didn't care. At all.

And then someone cleared their throat.

There had been many occasions where Stiles had hated his friends, for reasons various and sundry and with different degrees of hatred. Lydia Martin had never been one of those friends. Until then.

Derek let his head fall on Stiles' shoulder with a groan. Stiles looked over his head to see Lydia standing on her pink crutches matching the pink cast on her leg, looking unfazed.

“It's not that I don't appreciate the tableau,” she said, looking from Stiles to Derek and back again, which made Stiles preen, despite all he hated her in that moment. “Because I do, kudos to you. But I'm running late and you promised you'd drive me.”

Stiles had never been happier for deciding to wear loose pants that morning. Derek wasn't having such luck, seeing as he was trying discretely to rearrange himself with a hand inside the pocket of his tight jeans, his back still facing Lydia and glaring at the sky like it had personally offended him.

Heh. Stiles had given _Derek Hale_ a boner.

He still wasn't sure when exactly had he promised Lydia anything, though.

The fact is, since then things became... comfortable, for lack of a better word.

It's not like they talk about whatever it is that is going on between them, they don't even go out in dates, but they are together. It's a given: in Derek's new, poorly furnished apartment there's always a spot on the couch next to Derek reserved for Stiles. And if Derek places a familiar hand on Stiles' knee, no one bates an eyelash. Not even Stiles.

~~~~~~~~

When Derek comes to visit him at night, sometimes they make out, sometimes they study the Bestiary, usually both.

All in all, Stiles is glad that the maddening crush he had harbored for Derek (at first Derek just made him mad. Stiles only realized why when Derek told him to be careful and that hit him like a ton of bricks) is a mutual thing, apparently.

Stiles hears his unlatched window being opened, followed by soft padding on his carpet.

“Hey,” he says, without taking his eyes of the computer screen and gets a grunt in response, which makes his lips twitch. “I'm just finishing this here and I'll be right over.”

He hears a body falling on his bed, his bedcover rustling and then...

“What the hell is this?”

The memories of last night come flooding in. Rising panic in the pit of his stomach as Stiles realizes he knows exactly what Derek is talking about, without needing to look. He had been frustrated, his balls a fetching shade of blue, after Derek had only kissed him goodbye. He'd needed something more than a simple jacking off. He had picked it from the locked drawer in his desk, put a condom on it because cleaning is easier that way, used it, tossed the condom out and fell asleep, dropping it on the sheets.

Stiles turns around slowly on his chair, heat rising on his neck and, yup. Derek is staring at him, mouth open in surprise, eyebrows somewhere past his hairline, holding Stiles' dildo.

“Oh please, don't tell me you don't like having fun by yourself, too,” he blurts out. Those who say Stiles is brave? They don't know anything. He's not brave, he's obviously out of his fucking mind.

Derek shrugs.

“I just use my fingers for that,” he says, like it's a simple statement. Like he's not giving Stiles a meltdown by picturing Derek naked on his bed, fucking himself on his fingers and hopefully thinking of him. Stiles makes a choked up noise in the back of his throat and Derek smirks.

He looks at the dildo, turning it in his hands and frowns.

“Why the shape?” He asks.

“Erm, the curve and the knob at the tip are supposed to be better to reach the... you know.” Stiles would like very much for the floor to swallow him whole ASAP, please.

Derek nods. “Must feel good.”

“Oh, it does,” Stiles breathes. “Do you want to try it?” Really, out of his fucking mind. Cuckoo. Bring on the straight jacket!

Derek just stares blankly at him and Stiles mentally calculates the distance from his desk to the door and whether he can out run Derek. Maybe he'll just jump out of the window instead.

“Okay,” Derek says suddenly, smiling in amusement and Stiles starts.

“Okay,” Stiles parrots, dumbly. He stands up, rubs his clammy hands on his sweatpants, then runs one through his hair, walking to the bed. “So, hmm... How do you want to do this?” He's looking everywhere but at Derek, who's laughing silently at him.

“Just come here.” Derek pulls Stiles by a hand, making him fall on the bed with him.

Stiles is still trying to figure out which way is up when Derek is suddenly all over him, mouth on his, hands roaming everywhere.

Derek rolls them over so Stiles is lying on top of him, hips cradled by Derek's raised knees. Stiles mouths down Derek's throat and lets a frustrated whimper when his lips find Derek's henley instead of more skin.

“Off, off,” he croaks, tugging at the henley, his voice so many octaves lower it hurts to speak.

Derek sits up to remove his shirt while Stiles does the same with his. Stiles pounces when he sees all the expanse of Derek's naked torso displayed out for him and they both groan at the first contact of skin on skin.

Derek makes a frustrated sound and it takes Stiles a moment to realize he's trying to undo his trousers at the same time he's holding Stiles close. Stiles scrambles back and almost falls of the foot of the bed in his haste to reach the desk's drawer.

He fetches the lube and a condom and when he turns back to the bed Stiles has to stop for a moment to collect himself: Derek is lying naked on _Stiles_ ' bed, knees raised and spread open, head pillowed on his left arm while the fingers of his right hand skim lightly over his sides. Derek is more of a grower than a shower, but his cock is currently fat, the head grazing the hairs of his treasure trail. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles, but whatever type of scowl he's aiming for gets ruined by the fact that his eyes are heavy-lidded and desperate as he's trying not to pant.

Stiles kneels on the V of Derek's legs and runs the knuckles of a hand down Derek's inner thigh, making him shudder. It feels almost reverent, but Stiles can't help it. Not when Derek is giving himself so surely and without reservations, so different from what he shows to the world. Stiles feels so grateful; he almost wants to weep.

Stiles squeezes some lube on his fingers and rubs them together to warm it, taking a moment to try and control his shaking. He runs his now slick hand along the crack of Derek's ass and dips just the tip of a finger inside. It's so hot and soft inside and Derek is squeezing him so tight; for a moment Stiles wants nothing more than throw the dildo out of the window and bury himself so completely deep inside that he never comes back. But that's not what they agreed to, so Stiles has to leave that for later. Because he's totally going to fuck Derek, in anyway and anywhere his over-active imagination can come up with.

Instead Stiles removes his finger, noting Derek's small noise of disappointment, and slips the condom on the dildo, spreading the slick on it.

Stiles presses the tip of the toy against Derek's opening. Derek's relaxed enough that it breeches the first ring of muscle easily. Stiles takes his time, pressing it carefully at each of Derek's deep exhales, until the widest part of the shaft is inside and Derek's body seems to swallow the dildo to the flared base.

Derek is panting, long and shuddering, his thighs shaking minutely, the muscles in his abdomen bunching up. Stiles moves and twists the base slowly, until Derek arches back and lets out a loud and wrecked moan. Stiles has never been happier for his father taking a night shift.

Stiles starts to fuck in earnest with the dildo, mindful of always hitting him in the spot that makes Derek cry out like the air is being punched out of him. Stiles sticks his forefinger in the ring at the base so that he can press his thumb hard against Derek's perineum. Derek jerks his head to the side to bite at his own bicep, a long keening groan coming from between his clenched teeth. His muscles shift under his skin as his hips stutter up and Derek's right hand flies to his straining cock. Stiles has to take the hand holding Derek's ankle, so he can press the heel against his own painful erection.

“Fuck, Derek, come on, come on,” he begs as Derek strips his cock, looking completely gone.

Derek comes with a shout, his head thrown back. Stiles lets go of the dildo and crawls over Derek, pulling his hard cock out of his sweats.

He looks down at Derek while he jerks off: Derek is wrecked, lips parted, eyes glazed under his lashes, his flushed skin streaked with come. For a split moment Stiles is sure he's going to lose his mind when he realizes his dildo is still deep inside Derek, but then he's coming, too, curling into Derek and crying out into his neck.

Stiles slumps into Derek's open arms and they both stay unmovable, gathering their breath and mindless of their come sticking them together.

Derek places a hand on Stiles' nape and tugs lightly. Stiles rubs his face on Derek's shoulder, humming contentedly.

“Dammit, Stiles!” Derek tugs harder this time.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles says and rolls back.

Derek reaches between his legs, takes a deep breath and pulls the toy free of his body, gasping. Stiles winces in sympathy.

Stiles cleans them with his discarded t-shirt and lays back.

“I'm ruined,” he sighs. “You ruined me.”

“What?”

“Seriously,” Stiles goes on. “How dare you? You look like this and you are- like this. I'll never be able to have sex with anyone else ever.”

Derek closes his eyes and smiles, looking so pleased with himself, he'd waggle his tail if he had one.

“Good,” he says. And Stiles figures he should want to wipe that smug look of Derek's face, but he finds he's okay with it.

He really is.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](http://888mph.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
